


A Separate Peace

by starry19



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Obi-Wan is good at hugs, Satine Kryze Lives, Satine Kryze Needs a Hug, The Lawless AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:22:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29863563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starry19/pseuds/starry19
Summary: "This was, he reflected, the second time he’d been with her in this situation. Where she’d lost everything, betrayed by those she’d had a right to expect loyalty from."
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze
Comments: 11
Kudos: 75





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently I like to spend my time fixing things for my favorite couples. Why can we not have a happy ending for a couple in Star Wars? Why?
> 
> I have not quite decided if this is going to be continued yet, so we shall see. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy - this is my first stab at Obi-Wan's POV.

He did not take a full breath until they had safely entered hyperspace. 

In the seat beside him, Satine was silent. Frighteningly silent. No teasing, no biting comments about his method of rescue or his facial hair. 

How long had she been imprisoned? What had been done to her? 

Their trajectory set, he pulled Satine to her feet and guided her to the back of the ship. The _Twilight_ wasn’t built for luxury travel, but there was a better seating area in the rear. He wished he had something to offer her - a drink, at least. She looked like she needed one. 

They sat on the upholstered bench, and he turned towards her, his knees bracketing hers. She raised her eyes, and he carefully studied her face for the first time since breaking into her prison. The only color in her face came from a few abrasions that marred her lovely skin. Unthinking, he brushed a thumb over one of them. 

“Are you alright?” he asked softly. 

A glint of wry humor passed over her features. “I imagine I will be eventually.” She was silent for a beat. Then, “Thank you for saving me.” 

He offered her a small smile that she did not return. “You had to have known I would.” 

A slight shake of her head. “I only hoped.” 

His eyebrows furrowed of their own accord. “Satine,” he whispered, “you should have _known._ ” He was deeply bothered by it. There was a time in their lives where she would have been absolutely certain he could come for her.

Her lips made a half-hearted attempt to turn up, but it was mostly a wasted effort. 

He reminded himself that she had been through hell and this was not the time to argue with her. Instead, he touched her face again, smoothing one blonde tendril behind her ear. 

“You should wear your hair down more often,” he said casually, trying to distract her. And himself, he supposed. 

She came closer to a smile this time. “I will, just as soon as you shave that thing off your face. Although,” she went on, “I must say I do like the sight of you in Mandalorian armor.” 

“I’ll allow beskar has its time and place,” he told her, “but I much prefer Jedi robes.” Which were currently folded neatly on the single berth. 

He expected her to toss off a retort about his drab fashion. Indeed, he already had a reply waiting for what he assumed she would say. 

Instead, nothing. 

He was concerned again. 

He left her for a moment to change back into the aforementioned robes, the beskar being carefully stowed in the closet. He didn’t particularly care about what happened to it, but he imagined Satine would lecture him about its history if he summarily tossed it into space. 

Or perhaps not, he amended, emerging to find her with her head in her hands. 

He could feel her pain. Deep, piercing. Layers and layers of it. She had been very afraid, though he knew she rarely showed fear to anyone. He knew her better. 

Carefully, slowly, he settled beside her. Just as carefully, he wrapped his hands around her slender wrists, pulling her into his chest. 

She came willingly, tucking her face into his neck, one hand pressed to his heart. He shifted, both arms around her, cheek resting on the top of her head. She was trembling, muscles clenching as she fought to control herself. 

This was, he reflected, the second time he’d been with her in this situation. Where she’d lost everything, betrayed by those she’d had a right to expect loyalty from. 

He hadn’t known her well enough to hold her then, that first night on the run, when she’d tried to hide her tears from him. She hated showing weakness to anyone. 

She still did, but she made an exception for him. Perhaps it was because of their history, or perhaps it was because of the feelings still between them. 

He knew it was a priceless gift - he had the ability to hurt her, and she still let her guard down around him. 

Once upon a time, she had been an open book to him - _only_ to him. And he had seen her with all of her walls down, held at her what was arguably her most vulnerable. She had given him her ultimate trust and her innocence, taking his in return. 

His thoughts were straying into dangerous territory, so he followed his old master’s advice and kept himself focused on the present. It was only right, he reflected - why would he ruminate about the past when the woman herself was twined around him _right now_? 

He felt a trickle of moisture on his neck, a stray tear she hadn’t quite managed to keep in check. 

Gently, he cupped the back of her head, drawing her in until she was nearly in his lap. He didn’t normally permit himself to be so close to her, usually restraining himself to only holding her hands. 

There was a good reason for that.

Here, now, with the scent of her hair in his nose, the warmth of her delicate body beneath his hands, chaos was warring in his head and his heart. It made it harder, _so_ much harder, to remember why he shouldn’t be doing this.

But truly, what was he supposed to do? Go through all the trouble of defying the Council and breaking her out, only to let her cry by herself against the cold metal edges of a ship? Not hardly. 

Her arms wound around his neck, and now she really was in his lap. He felt her take a deep breath against his shoulder, then another. 

“It’s alright,” he whispered, “you’re safe.” 

She shook her head fiercely. “I may be,” she choked out, “but my people aren’t.”

Ah. 

There was little he could do about that situation, at least for now. When he returned, it would likely be a different story. Maul’s involvement certainly made the issue of Mandalore on of Jedi concern. 

Though it _should_ have been one already. After all, they were the galaxy’s peacekeepers. But that was neither here nor there…

He brushed his lips across the top of her head. He should care more about her people - but he was unable to lie to himself. The only Mandalorian he cared about was currently in his arms. 

They were silent for a time, the only sound the mechanical humming of the _Twilight._ Gradually, Satine relaxed by degrees until she was limp, her head heavy on his shoulder.

With mild surprise, he realized she was asleep. Then again, perhaps that wasn’t strange at all. She had been in captivity for…he didn’t know. Having been held hostage a time or two himself, he knew prison cells didn’t lend themselves to restful nights. 

And Satine wasn’t a Jedi, didn’t have his training. All she had was a core of durasteel and a will of the same. Eventually, however, it could be broken. He wondered how close she was to that point. 

She knew she was safe, knew he would protect her with his last breath. If she was going to relax, now was the time. 

He hadn’t held her while she slept in sixteen years. Not since that last night they’d spent together. It felt exactly the same now as it had then. She was just as slender and soft as he’d remembered. 

True, they weren’t in the massive bed in her newly-restored chamber now, wrapped in silk sheets and each other, sated and peaceful. But he was glad he had a new memory to add to his collection, nevertheless. 

He shifted, swinging a leg up onto the bench and easing backwards until his shoulders were braced against the wall. In her sleep, Satine followed his movements, her cheek pressed to his chest, arms around his waist. 

Gently, he stroked her hair, willing her back to sleep. 

The pulsing lights of hyperspace continued to flash by, lulling him into a sense of complacency. A stray thought crossed his mind - he wished time would stop. When they arrived at Coruscant, things would have to be different. The crisis that allowed him to hold her this way would pass. There would be legions of other people around, not this perfect bubble of solitude. 

She slept for hours. Peacefully, he thought. 

When she woke, she looked up at him with sleepy eyes full of confusion. He held her gaze as understanding - and sadness - set in. 

“I thought it was a nightmare,” she whispered, hand touching her forehead. 

“It was,” he told her, “but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.” 

She sighed, turning in his arms until she could rest the back of her head on his chest. Absently, she toyed with his fingers, and he watched in fascination. A study of contrasts - his much larger hands, rougher and browner, entangled with her delicate ivory ones. 

They used to sit like this often, once upon a time, Satine tucked up next to him beneath his cloak. During their time on the run, the nights spent in the wilderness, it was often the only way she could get warm. He was delighted to be of service, both then and now. 

He should put himself away from her. 

But he wasn’t sure he could make himself let her go. 

And anyway, he reasoned, it wasn’t as if his attachment to her would vanish if he was standing five feet to the left. It wouldn’t magically grant him peace of mind or settle him. 

Indeed, it was hard to argue with the way he felt right in this moment. It _was_ peaceful. He _was_ settled, her slight weight anchoring him. 

If Anakin could see him now, could hear his thoughts, his former Padawan would never stop laughing. 

Or maybe he wouldn’t. Obi-Wan had made a long and brilliant career of ignoring the relationship between the galaxy’s brightest star and the Senate’s most attractive member. Perhaps Anakin would know more about this particular kind of peace than he did. 

And, perhaps, he would ask the younger man about it some time. 

Satine, still holding his hands, drew his arms tighter around her. He obliged, kissing the top of her head once more. 

“How much longer until we make it to Coruscant?” she asked quietly. 

“We should come out of hyperspace in another hour or two,” he told her, lips in her hair still. 

Why was it that he was able to maintain his Jedi vows around every single person in the galaxy except her? Was it just because he had broken them spectacularly with her earlier in life? 

She sighed, settling back in his embrace. “I’m not looking forward to addressing the Senate,” she said eventually. “I’m sure most of them remember how…adamantly I opposed Republic help a short while ago.” 

He nearly smiled. Satine had never been good at apologies. “Well, my dear, if it makes you feel any better, I doubt your opinion is going to have an impact on whether or not Galactic troops start mobilizing. This is no longer an internal matter. Not with Maul involved.” 

She shivered, delicately, and he squeezed her once. They were going to have to talk about this sooner or later. He did not particularly want to hear it, did not want to picture what she had gone through, but it would be better for her if she didn’t bottle it all up. 

“Wait,” she said, the tone of her voice suddenly different. “Who thought this was ever an internal matter?” 

Blast. She _had_ always been much smarter, much more observant than normal people. 

“Ah. Well,” he began, “the Jedi council.” 

He wasn’t quite sure how she would react to that. 

“Wait,” she said again. “The Jedi council though the ruination of my planet, of its people, was an _internal matter_?” 

“Yes.” The word was apologetic.

He knew her eyebrow was arched. “And yet they still sent a Jedi to save me?” 

Busted, as Anakin would say. Usually accompanied by several curse words, often in Huttese. 

He took a breath. “They didn’t precisely send me,” he admitted. “Rather the opposite of that.” 

She sat up, his arms falling to her waist, and when she turned, her face was utterly indecipherable. “Am I to infer that you were specifically told to not come to Mandalore, Obi-Wan?” 

He nodded. 

The Force was telling him that the emotions that were washing over her were a tangled mess. Anger, surprise, contempt…and, from somewhere, a hint of…joy? “So you defied your council?” 

He adopted what he hoped was a neutral expression. “It would appear so.” 

“ _Why?_ ” 

Now that was the important question, wasn’t it? There were many things he could say, some of which were probably true. He could say he couldn’t leave innocent people under such threat, he could go on about neutrality among star systems and how important self-determination was and how he was a peacekeeper. But there was only one reason, and they both knew it. 

“Because you needed me,” he said, very simply. 

And it _was s_ imple. 

She held his eyes, and he hid precisely nothing from her. 

Slowly, making sure he knew exactly what she was doing, she reached up, taking his face in her hands and pressing their foreheads together. 

He knew what was going to happen next.

And still, he didn’t move, except to allow his eyes to close.

Satine brushed her lips across his once, twice, with no more pressure than a whisper. When she came for a third pass, he declined to stay passive, fingers sliding into her hair, holding her in place. 

He had not kissed her in sixteen years. But, _Force_ , he remembered how to do it. 

Abruptly, he was done. Done pretending he was in any way over this woman. Done pretending that she wasn’t _at least_ as important to him as the Jedi Order. 

But not done kissing her. Not by a long shot. 

Gently at first, passion escalating as they both briefly fought for control. He won, but only because she let him. 

And then he took his time. 

He was not hurried often, and would not be with this. She opened her mouth at his demand, a quiet noise escaping as he swept his tongue over hers, fingers digging into his shoulders. He did it again, reveling in the shocks of pleasure that chased through his nerves. 

Hers too, he hoped. 

When she pulled back to gasp out a breath, he moved his lips to her jaw, her temple, her neck, trying to recall every place that used to make her shiver. As it turned out, most of them still did. 

“I missed you so much,” she whispered once. 

He found her mouth again. “I missed you too,” he breathed back in between kisses. 

Both knew they were not only referring to the time between their most recent separation. He had missed her for years, missed her skin beneath his fingertips, how she smelled, the way she sharpened her wits against his. 

His palms skimmed down her ribs, settling at her waist. Satine’s hands were already beneath the collar of his robes, tracing the lines of bone and muscle they found. 

Her kisses took on a desperate edge, and he slowed them both down again, gentling his mouth, resisting her urgency. Eventually she complied, her tension relaxing, and he began lengthening the time between kisses, and the pressure, until their lips were meeting for just a moment, and with the force of butterfly wings. 

They were going to be in new territory now. 

Were they restarting their relationship? It certainly seemed so. Was now - right now - the time for it? Probably not. 

Was he going to back away now, his arms around her, her taste on his tongue? No.

There was never going to be a perfect time. And they had waited long enough already. 

The ship’s alarm system went off, informing him they were about to leave hyperspace. Satine sighed, a perfect echo of his thoughts, and he had to smile. 

One more soft kiss, and he eased her off his lap, immediately missing the warmth. But the _Twilight_ wouldn’t land itself. 

Beneath them, Coruscant glittered, vast and infinite. 

Satine was silent as they descended, watching the spires of the planet come closer and closer, one hand on his shoulder. He landed them carefully - or as carefully as was possible in this bucket of bolts that seemed to be disintegrating before his eyes. 

He was a little surprised that Anakin wasn’t waiting on the landing platform, demanding to know what in blazes was going on. Just as the thought crossed his mind, he caught sight of dark gold curls and a black tabard moving at a high rate of speed in their general direction. 

Ah. That was going to be a fun conversation. 

He stood, ushering Satine towards the still-sealed door, hand on the small of her back. 

“You know,” she finally commented, standing quietly next to him as they waited for the ramp to fully extend, “I believe I’ve changed my mind.”

He stared, nonplussed. “About what?”

She smiled, suddenly mischievous. “I think perhaps I like the beard after all.” 

He laughed, just once, then held out an arm to her. She took it, her humor visibly fading as they walked to the edge of the ship. She had much to face in the coming hours. 

But she needn’t face all of it - or any of it - alone.

He hoped she found comfort in that. 

“Satine,” he murmured, and she looked up at him. He couldn’t help it - he kissed her again. Perhaps it was reassurance that he didn’t regret what had just happened, that he was intending to move forward with her in his life. Or perhaps he just needed to be connected to her again. “It will be alright.” 

For just a moment, her expression was utterly vulnerable, and his heart broke a little at the sorrow he saw in her eyes. “Stay with me?” 

He didn’t know if she was talking about the next day or the next lifetime. Either way, his answer was the same. 

“I will.” 

Daylight touched them, their solitude over. 

Anakin’s voice reached them almost immediately. “Obi-Wan! What in the hell is going on? I knew you were summoned by Master Yoda and then the next thing I knew, the _Twilight_ was gone, and the Council is _pissed_ and -“ His protogee’s voice cut off in mid-sentence as he took in just _who_ was walking down the ramp. 

Even under the circumstances, Obi-Wan could treasure the expression on Anakin’s face. It wasn’t often the young man was speechless, and rarer still when Obi-Wan was the cause. 

“There was a bit of a situation I needed to take care of,” he told his former apprentice. “On a related note, Mandalore is currently under the control of Darth Maul.” He kept his voice light, casual. 

To Anakin’s credit, he recovered quickly, years of training allowing him to process information rapidly. “That is…not good.” The understatement that ate Coruscant. “But I’m very glad to see you, my lady,” he said to Satine. “Very glad you’re safe.” 

Satine found a smile. “Thank you, Master Skywalker.” 

Anakin fell into step beside them as they walked towards the shuttle that was waiting to take them to the Senate building. “Do you have a place to stay?” He took in her appearance. “I’m sure Padme would be happy to help with whatever you need. So would I, of course,” he added quickly. “But there are obviously things she’s eminently more qualified for.” 

“I think I would appreciate that,” Satine said, “but please don’t go to any trouble.” 

Anakin grinned. “Not at all, my lady.” He looked at Obi-Wan. “Do you want me to alert the Council about the developments on Mandalore? If you’re taking Satine to the chancellor, they may want to be there.” 

Yes, and Anakin _may_ have had a habit of disobeying orders. Or Jar Jar Binks _may_ have been a walking, talking threat to any being within ten meters of him. 

He nodded. “That’s a good idea,” he agreed. “We’ll meet you there.” 

The younger man nodded, then touched his shoulder as he made to change direction. “The next time you need to go on a rescue mission to a hostile planet, don’t forget to take me.” 

Anakin’s way of saying all was forgiven and that they were still on the same side. 

“I won’t,” Obi-Wan promised, turning his attention back to Satine as Anakin departed. “Ready for this?” he asked, gesturing at the shuttle. 

She sighed, very deeply. “No, but I daresay my story won’t improve with waiting.” 

“I’ll be with you the whole time,” he promised, bringing his other hand up to cover hers. 

They stepped aboard, and as he watched, Satine visibly straightened her shoulders, a lifetime of leadership settling around her. 

She was remarkable, truly. 

By the time they landed at the chancellor’s private entrance to the Senate building, they were no longer Satine and Obi-Wan, former and possibly future lovers, newly back from a life-threatening situation, with the world falling to pieces around them.

They were the Duchess of Mandalore and her Jedi protector. 

She let go of his arm as they walked forward, and his heart swelled with pride. 

This was _his_ duchess. The one who fought through fear and pain and grief, and who would never bow down to her enemies. Once, a long time ago, he’d thought it wasn’t possible to love her more than he already did. 

He had been wrong. What he felt for her as a man far outstripped what he did as a boy. 

He did not know, could not see, what the future held. But he was _certain_ \- utterly certain - that he would be at her side. 

They were shown into Palpatine’s office, and he willed that knowledge in her direction. 

_I am with you_. 

It was time to be the man she had needed all those years ago. The one who helped put a world back together. The one who actually kept the peace. 

The one who stayed. 

-


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did this need a second chapter? Nope. Did I write one? Yup. Am I writing a third? Probably. 
> 
> I love all of you for the comments and kudos. It's terrifying, writing for a new couple, and I know I'm struggling to find character's voices (and to remember how words go together in general, sheesh), but your support is amazing. Thanks for hanging on! I'll get better, I promise!

She was, she thought, possibly the most exhausted she had ever been in her existence. 

The first time she was in exile had been bad. But then again, she had been seventeen. Sixteen years made a great deal of difference. She wasn’t old by any stretch of the imagination, but she couldn’t imagine the aches she would face if she tried to sleep on the cold ground of a cave again. 

No, tonight she would be in a comfortable bed, very much too large for one person, in an apartment where her every need could be catered to.

Still.

It was not every day that one lost one’s throne and was tortured in prison, and it was only through sheer force of will that she went through the rest of her day. Speak to the chancellor. Have a much more frank conversation with Padme. Try to not dwell on what was befalling her people - her _family_ \- at that very moment. 

Obi-Wan stayed at her side, carefully in the background unless he was explicitly needed. His presence helped, regardless. 

If nothing else, it gave her something else to think about. Were they together again? Really though, it wasn’t like they had ever been apart, or been with others. But were they actively together?

He’d kissed her like they were. 

And she would give years of her life if he would stay with her tonight. If she could sleep with her head on his chest, wake up to the warmth of his body beside her. 

She tried hard to keep an entirely thoughtless mind as she performed her evening rituals. Hair still down, but cleaner, face bare of cosmetics, wearing a velvet-edged robe over her nightgown, she studied her reflection in the ornately framed mirror in the bedroom.

Older than she _was_ , but not old. A few fine lines when she smiled, but that was alright. Mostly, she didn’t think about the passing years at all. 

It was only on nights like tonight, when the weight of a lifetime of struggle settled on her shoulders, did she feel twice her actual age. 

What she wanted, as cliche as it sounded, was someone to lean on. Someone who help bear her burden - possibly not even that. Perhaps she just wanted someone to stand beside her and steady her hand.

No, that wasn’t true either. 

She wanted Obi-Wan. 

Wanted him and his humor and the way he could make her feel so very safe. 

She wondered if he would consent to letting her rest her head on his shoulder, now that the crisis of the last twelve hours had abated. 

She figured her odds were slightly better than even.

They improved when there was a knock on her door. Obi-Wan was waiting on the other side, looking tired, Jedi robes wrapped around him. 

“Hello, my dear,” he said, offering her a smile.

She stepped back, letting him in. 

“How did things go with the Council?” she asked, leading him to the apartment’s sitting room. She dropped onto the sofa, and he followed, sitting close beside her. She was glad to see he was not, apparently, in a different frame of mind, at least regarding their relationship. 

He shrugged. “Well enough, I suppose. While they still refuse to acknowledge they made a mistake originally, they do admit Maul’s involvement puts the entire situation in a new light.” 

“So they’ll help?” 

He took her hand. “They’ll help. Along with thousands of troops.” 

She let out a breath, her fingers slipping between his. 

“Satine,” he said, seriously. “There are no guarantees in this war. Things may change in a heartbeat. Try to temper your hopes.” 

His blue eyes were wide and earnest, and she nodded. 

“It will take some time to assemble troops and come up with a working strategy,” he went on. “The Council will wish to speak with you tomorrow, just to hear any useful information you may have. I know you were locked up,” he said, before she could point that out, “but no detail is too small.” 

She nodded again, sitting back against the sofa and tucking her feet beneath her. He followed, though he kept his feet firmly on the ground in typical fashion. 

With a sigh, their fingers still laced, she tipped her head against his shoulder. He let her, squeezing her hand once. 

“You should sleep,” he said quietly. 

“I will eventually,” she responded, bringing her free hand over to wrap around his forearm. He was still allowing all of this, and she would take advantage of it while she was able. 

They were silent for several minutes, an easy peace between them. Obi-Wan kissed the top of her head once, and she tried hard to tamp down her longing. 

It was more difficult when he rested his cheek against her hair. 

“Do you need anything?” he asked once. “It looks like you’re well-provided for here, but if there was something else you wanted…”

She closed her eyes. “Just you, my dear.” 

His lips touched her hair again. “And I’m here,” he breathed. 

She took a risk. “Stay,” she whispered, not looking at him. “Stay with me tonight. I’m just _so_ tired, Obi-Wan.” 

And she didn’t want to be alone, as shameful as that was. 

He stood, and she felt her heart sink. She had pushed too far, been too greedy. Why couldn’t she have simply been content? After all, it was more than she’d had in a decade and a half. 

But then he held out his hands to her. “Let’s go to bed, my lady.” 

There was nothing remotely sexual in his tone - and she certainly _knew_ when he was being suggestive. But the only thing here was tenderness and affection. 

She went. 

Three short minutes later, Obi-Wan pausing to shed his outer robes, belt, and boots, lightsaber resting on the bedside table, they slipped beneath the covers. 

He pulled her into his chest, and she wondered for just a moment if this was some elaborate daydream she had created. Perhaps it was all a fantasy, and soon she would be recalled to the reality of a cold metal floor and fear and pain. 

She shivered, and he tugged the sheets up to her shoulders. 

Then again, if her mind _had_ finally cracked, this wasn’t a bad sort of insanity to wind up in. 

She had missed this. Dearly.

He felt a little different now than he had before. Less wiry, more solid muscle. Broader shoulders. She’d slept in his arms any number of times, much preferring the warmth of his chest to the hard ground of an obscure forest. Or even the cold smoothness of an empty bed. 

“Sleep,” he murmured, one hand tracing abstract patterns up and down her back. “I’ve got you.” 

“Do you?” she breathed, eyes closed again. There was a wealth of implication in her words. And a very loud, though not explicitly spoken, question. 

“Yes,” he whispered, in exactly the same tone. 

She felt him shift, felt him press a soft kiss to her forehead. 

And she was done with her interrogations. _Take this_ , her mind urged, _and cherish it_. 

She did.

___

She woke to the rosy light of dawn creeping over the rich carpet of her chamber, an unfamiliar heavy warmth beside her. 

The return to reality took her a bit. 

Her entire body ached. Badly. But. 

Obi-Wan was asleep with his head in the crook of her neck, his arm draped protectively across her. 

And, despite the darkness of her circumstances, she took a moment to be profoundly grateful. He was hers again, even if it was only until he woke. 

Because this was going to end, wasn’t it? For now, he had taken down his barriers, but surely they would return. And the two of them would go back to being a duchess and a Jedi. 

She wrapped both of her arms around the one he had at her waist. A futile attempt to hold him here, hold the future off. 

But she heard a deep intake of breath, felt the flexing of honed muscles, and wondered if her waking fantasy was about to be over. 

Instead, he relaxed again, though clearly awake now, pulling her closer. She allowed herself a moment of hope. 

“Good morning, my lady,” he murmured, lips brushing her neck with every word. 

She could not help the goosebumps that dotted her skin. “Good morning.” 

“Sleep well?” 

She smiled. “Very well.” 

And she had. No nightmares, which was surprising. Or perhaps not, considering her state of exhaustion. 

“Good,” he said, shifting so that he could get both arms around her. She pressed herself closer, and he made a small sound of contentment. 

It had been a long time, a _very_ long time, since they had done this. Lazy mornings in bed together were not precisely commonplace, nor had they ever been. Granted, as their previous time together had gone on, they had gotten worse and worse at hiding it from Qui-Gon. 

And Qui-Gon had gotten worse and worse at pretending he didn’t know exactly what was happening. 

But a bed was a novelty. So was time. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked softly, breath stirring her hair. 

She considered her answer, as the question covered a whole host of topics. “Sore,” she finally decided. Physically, certainly. Emotionally, absolutely she was bruised. 

Her response seemed to alarm him, as he started to pull away, clearly fearful that he was doing damage. She clamped her arms around his. “Don’t you _dare,_ ” she commanded. 

Slowly, carefully, he settled back down, though not quite as close as he had been. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered, and she knew that was true. 

Suddenly feeling vulnerable, she brought his hand to her mouth. Kissed his palm. “It would hurt me if you left.” 

She did not merely mean if he left this bed, though that was accurate. 

His arms tightened, and he kissed her shoulder. “Then I shall stay, my dear.”

They needed to talk about it.

She took a silent, bracing breath. For goodness sake - she was capable of leading an entire planet, of speaking for over a thousand worlds. Surely she could find the courage to discuss something with one, solitary man. 

“Are we…” she began, uncertainly. Hated herself for the hesitation. Only _he_ could have this effect. “What are we?”

He stroked the inside of her wrist with a thumb. “You and I?” he asked. 

“Yes,” she whispered. “Are we…together?” 

She felt pressure on her shoulders, and she rolled to face him. He had the audacity to look faintly amused. “Well, far be it from to criticize your life choices, my dear, but I hope you wouldn’t get into bed with someone you _weren’t_ with.” 

When she didn’t smile, his expression became more serious. “Satine,” he murmured, “I have never _not_ been yours.” 

She stared up into those eyes, sky blue and utterly open to her. “Why now?” Her throat felt tight. 

Obi-Wan sighed. Brushed a lock of her hair away. “I grew weary of lying to myself.” Another sigh. “Why did I defy the Council, steal a ship, and commit any number of major and minor crimes? It wasn’t because we were friends.” 

She was silent, desperately afraid of breaking the spell of his words. 

“You are my heart,” he breathed. “You always have been. That fact has not changed in sixteen years, despite how hard I’ve tried to move on. I did think that I had managed it once, but then…” he shrugged. “Then I went to Mandalore and realized I was still as in love with you as I’d ever been.” 

A tear slipped out of her stinging eyes, and he touched it with the tip of one finger. “And now?” 

He smiled at her obvious fishing. “I love you. Completely.” His eyes darkened. “And I’m so tired of being without you.”

She closed her eyes, unable to bear it any longer. But it wasn’t until his hand slipped around the back of her head, pulling her in, that she realized she was crying. 

“It’s alright,” he murmured, lips ghosting over her hair. “It’ll be alright. Hush, my love.” 

He hadn’t called her that in sixteen years, and she felt close to shattering. 

Blindly, she reached up, hands sliding across his shoulders, his neck, until she could pull him down. 

She kissed him like she would die if she didn’t, and perhaps she would. His lips were warm on hers, yielding to whatever she wished, and she could taste the salt of her own tears. 

This was too intense to be only pleasure. She _ached_ , her heart threatening to burst from its shelter beneath her ribs, the blood in her veins reaching a boiling point. 

She needed him, needed the weight of him, the reassurance that he was real, and not some phantom conjured up from the depths of her memories. 

Her hands yanked at his tunic and she gloried in the sound of stitches giving way before he obliged her by removing the offending garment himself. 

Once, she knew every freckle and scar on him. It saddened her to see how the map of him had changed. 

An angry slash across his ribs, the tell-tale pucker of a blaster bolt on his left flank. And his back. Oh, his _back_. 

“What happened?” she whispered, fingers skating across the long, criss-crossing scars. “This is awful.” 

His eyes were dark again, either with passion or remembrance. “Would you believe me if I told you someone mistook me for a disobedient slave?” 

She shook her head, still horrified. 

He kissed her, reached for her hands, pulling them away from the evidence of his mortality. “Then I won’t say it.” 

She allowed herself to be distracted by his mouth, and he made it easy, lips tracing a path across her collarbone, up her neck, behind her ear. 

His beard lent a scratchy edge to the proceedings, and while she had to admit she preferred him clean shaven, the sensation was not at all unpleasant. Far, _far_ from it. 

She arched her back, shivering, fingers in his hair as she tried to pull his mouth back to hers. He was not easily deterred, however, and she sucked in an involuntary breath as he delicately nuzzled into the shallow valley between her breasts. Even through the fabric of her nightgown, she could feel the heat of his breath. 

His hands were everywhere, caressing and teasing, and she was ready to scream with impatience by the time he eased the gauzy material over her head. 

And she was then forced to admit to extreme self-consciousness.

His eyes raked over her, missing nothing, and she was suddenly afraid he would find her wanting after all these years. 

But he kissed her, hotly, fingers beginning to trace terrain they had once been very familiar with. “You are so gorgeous,” he breathed into her mouth. “ _So_ gorgeous.” 

Her memory seemed to fail at that point, the next several minutes becoming blurred. There were things she could recall with clarity - the texture of facial hair against her inner thighs, the press of his hand low on her stomach, the way the ceiling spun crazily. 

The whole thing could have crashed down and she doubted she would have noticed. 

He crawled back up her body, looking nearly unbearably smug. The grin he gave her transformed him back into the nineteen year old he had been the first time they’d tried this successfully. 

Before she’d quite recovered, he kissed her, lacing their fingers together and lifting their joined hands to the pillow above her head. 

“I love you,” he whispered again, his weight pressing down on her. 

She shifted restlessly beneath him. “Prove it,” she dared. 

He did. 


	3. Chapter Three

If he stopped to think about the past two days, it seemed a bit like something he’d dreamed up in a sleep-deprived state.

Forty-eight standard hours ago, life had been relatively normal - or whatever passed for normal in the middle of a war. 

Then he’d been summoned to meet with Yoda and Mace and the entire galaxy had turned upside down. 

For the better, he amended quickly. Absolutely for the better. 

Still.

It _was_ a bit of an adjustment. 

Satine was asleep again, head on his chest, one leg hooked across his knees. As though he was going anywhere. Not after what had just passed between them. 

They’d made love a second time, almost immediately after the first. They had missed a great deal of these opportunities, through no fault of their own, and there was much to make up for. He hoped they would have years to arrange amends.

Despite the veritable lifetime that had passed, so much was the same. She still fit perfectly in his arms, like she was made to be there. The fragile wing of her collarbone was still just about the most erotic thing he had ever seen.

She was still a pacifist and he was still a Jedi. 

There were decisions that were going to need to be made now. He realized he was being deeply presumptuous - he hadn’t even _asked_ Satine if she wanted him for the foreseeable future. But he hoped her answer was in the way she had kissed him, the way she had clung to him in her pleasure. 

The way she had cried when he told her he loved her. 

He felt a little ashamed about that. His words should not have been such a revelation to her. Indeed, if asked, he would have sworn that she knew. After all, he had admitted to his willingness to leave the Order for her. In his mind, that was tantamount to a public confession. 

_I would leave the only home I have ever known, the people who raised me, the place I thought I belonged, to be at your side._

And he would have. 

Looking back, however, he realized there were innumerable problems with that scenario. Satine had such a tenuous grip on power, on her people’s trust, that deciding publicly to take a Jedi as a consort would have been a cataclysm of ruination. 

The people of Mandalore had a long memory. They never forgave. They never forgot. 

Her rule would have immediately been put in jeopardy. She would have been called traitor, imposter. Pretender to the throne. The fact that she had spent a year under the protection of two Jedi was quite bad enough for a measurable amount of citizens. 

Marrying one would have been…a disaster. 

He frowned at that. 

_Would_ they have married? He imagined they would have had to. Duchesses did not get to have live-in boyfriends. 

Would they have been ready for that sort of commitment? That one was an easier question. He had already undertaken a lifelong commitment at that point. She was _born_ under one. They would have made it work. He would not have resented taking some of the burden of leadership from her. She probably would have been thankful for someone she knew she could trust. 

Another moment of uncomfortable guilt. 

He had _not_ been satisfied that all the members of her personal guard had the required level of devotion to their duchess when he left. Qui-Gon did not share his hesitations, however, and they had departed anyway. 

He had _left her_ with people he didn’t trust. 

With advisors that may have been working at cross-purposes. With aides that may have plotting her downfall or demise. 

He had _left her_. 

To keep her own counsel, to bear her own burdens. 

He knew she was strong, knew she was brilliant. 

But her shoulders were narrow, her frame delicate, and an entire planet could be heavy in so many different ways. 

She had borne it, obviously, and borne it well, until the choice was taken out of her hands entirely. 

A duchess in exile now, he knew she still felt the weight. 

She shifted, curling herself closer, and he ran a soothing hand down her back, murmured softly to the mess of her hair. 

He smiled once, briefly, realizing the only reason her hair looked the way it did was because he had been unable to keep his hands out of it. She would forgive him for that, he trusted. 

Just as he knew she had already forgiven him for leaving her. 

_Not_ that she had asked him to stay. 

But he knew why that was, too. 

She knew what he would have said. And, selflessly, she had taken the choice away from him, at the expense of her own heartbreak. At least, he presumed she was heartbroken.

He certainly had been. 

He hadn’t slept properly for months, waking from vivid dreams and reaching out for her, fingers closing on empty space. He existed within the shell of his memories, the place where he could see her face as she laughed at him, where he could feel her slender arms wrap around his neck, the graceful, floral scent of her perfume snaring his senses.

As time passed on, it did not feel as though it got easier, as though the pain of her absence got lighter. It was more as though he grew strong enough to survive it. It still _ached_ , still bled. 

But he endured. 

He had to, after all. 

They had, both of them, walked the paths they were meant to, separate and distinct from each other. It was the will of the Force that they had done so.

But it was also the will of the Force that kept them connected by the slender, unbreakable thread of deep, true love. 

And it was the will for the Force that brought them together once more. 

He was not going to fight it. 

He was a peacekeeper, after all, or was meant to be. And there was nothing so exhausting as fighting fate. 

One elegant, ivory hand settled on his chest. 

“Thinking deep thoughts, as always.” Her voice was hazy with sleep, though the undercurrent of amusement was clear. 

He caught her fingers, brought them to his mouth. “And what _should_ I be thinking of, your highness?” 

She looked up at him, smiling. “Would you like a list, Master Jedi?” 

His grin matched hers. “Oh, by all means.” 

His comm link chose that moment to beep, and Satine jumped slightly at the noise. He didn’t, buthe was lightly taken aback. It was rather easy to forget there was an entire galaxy outside of this bed. 

But it _did_ exist, and he _did_ have to answer. 

Vaguely wondering what time it was, he reached for the belt he’d left on her nightstand. 

Anakin’s annoyed voice came through in another second. “Where are you?” he asked without preamble. “I’ve been looking for you all morning.” 

Finally, Obi-Wan spotted the chronometer on the nearby desk. Later than he’d expected, but not unforgivably so. “Something came up that I needed to take care of,” he said vaguely. He was sure that Anakin, a master of deception when it came to where he spent his own nights would pick up on it and not push. “What’s going on?” 

A brief pause as Anakin worked through his statement. _Don’t say anything don’t say anything don’t say anything_. “Uh…Master Windu wanted the two of us to go over a few things with the duchess. He seems to think she’ll feel more comfortable with just us, and will be able to give better information that way.” 

Probably a true statement. And he was also extremely glad that he didn’t need to see the whole Council after spending the night smashing his vows into very small pieces. 

“Good idea,” he responded absently, starting to visually locate his discarded clothing. 

“Can you contact her?” Anakin asked. “Try to see if she’s free in an hour or so?” 

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” he replied, spying his tunic lying in a crumpled heap at the other end of the room. Now how had it gotten all the way over there? “I’ll let you know.” 

He disconnected the communication without saying goodbye. 

There was silence for a moment, then Satine, sitting up behind him, snaked her arms around his shoulders. He smiled again as he leaned into her bare chest. 

“Well?” she teased. “What do you think? Are you going to be able to contact me?” 

He turned, just enough to steal a kiss. “I believe I’ll manage,” he told her, holding her eyes. “With one small change.” 

“Oh?” she asked, still playful. “What’s that?” 

He reached out suddenly, surprising a startled laugh out of her as he tumbled her back to the mattress. “You’re not free in an hour.” 

She quirked one perfectly arched brow. “I’m not?”

He shook his head, voice low and full of promises he very much intended to keep. “You’re free in two.” 

—

He snuck out of her room like a wayward teenager, looking furtively up and down the carpeted hallways before making a break for the lift. 

Once again, he thought of Anakin and how deeply and ardently his padawan would be amused by this. Indeed, Obi-Wan wondered if Anakin would break a rib from laughter. 

Thankfully, he wasn’t stopped on his way to the Temple. He nodded at the guards, trying to not look as though he’d just spent the night in reckless abandon. Well, not the night, really. Most of the reckless abandon happened in the morning. 

With effort, he fought off a broad grin. 

A quick shower, clean clothes that had no trace of visiting royalty on them, and he was ready to face Anakin, who was impatiently waiting. 

The younger man kept shooting him furtive glances, clearly trying to discern where he’d been. Or rather, he was likely aiming for confirmation of his theories. 

Satine herself opened the door, looking every inch The Duchess. No elaborate headdress anymore, of course, but a pale green gown and blonde tresses twisted up elegantly at the back of her neck. 

She looked gorgeous, and he made a note to tell her that. Just as soon as he could do it without Anakin’s head exploding. 

She greeted them formally, in full diplomatic note, and he realized they had never discussed what the strategy was in regards to, well… _them_. Or if there even was a them. They seemed to keep getting distracted. 

He decided to follow her lead and behave as though nothing had changed. But her cheeks did color slightly when their eyes held, and he _knew_ Anakin noticed. 

“Duchess,” he said, ignoring Anakin’s barely concealed smirk. “We’d like to hear everything you can remember about the situation on your planet. Numbers, names you perhaps heard in passing, any details of the royal palace you could share that may be helpful - concealed hallways or hidden rooms and the like. Anything at all that could make this campaign easier for us.” 

She sighed, directing them to the empty table in the dining area. They all sat, and he very discreetly hooked a foot around her chair leg. 

_I’m with you_ , was the message.

The toe of her shoe silently tapped his, just once. 

And then he and Anakin began asking questions. Some things she had excellent responses for, some things she helplessly shook her head and apologized over. From somewhere, she produced the blueprints for the palace, and she carefully took them through the hiding places and the rooms she thought were likely candidates for their purposes. 

She was a wealth of information about Sundari itself, giving them access routes and override codes and all manner of useful tips. Of course, she made it her business to know as much as she could about her capital. It was still impressive. 

After two hours, her voice was starting to sound scratchy, but she showed no signs of tiring otherwise. 

Eventually, they wrapped up, he and Anakin compiling thorough notes and diagrams. 

“Thank you, my lady,” Anakin said, giving her his best charming smile. “You’ve been extremely helpful.” 

Satine’s response was very wry. “Not at all. I’m delighted to help the Republic take over my planet.” 

It was certainly not what Anakin was expecting her to say, and he blinked rapidly. “My lady-“ he began, but she waved a hand, cutting him off. 

“I apologize, Master Skywalker. That was unfair of me. I know you’re trying to help.” Her smile was strained, but Anakin nodded, eyes widening in sympathy. 

“This is hard for you,” he said, “for lots of reasons. But you’re doing the right thing.” He sounded utterly convinced of it, and perhaps he was. 

“I certainly hope so,” she replied, then visibly brought herself out of her cynicism. “I’m having lunch with Senator Amidala later,” she said, and Anakin gave her his full attention, as he did whenever anyone mentioned Padme. “She speaks highly of you.” 

Obi-Wan suspected he was the only one who understood what the tone of Satine’s voice meant, and he hid a smile. 

Anakin colored slightly, though he did look happier. “I think a great deal of the senator as well.” 

Satine smiled, and the lingering awkwardness between them evaporated. “Perhaps you should join us,” she said, “and you too, Obi-Wan,” she added, flicking her gaze in his direction. 

“Maybe we will,” Anakin answered, just a shade too quickly, eyes betraying his eagerness. “That sounds good.” 

He made to leave, then stopped, looking back. “Coming, Master?” 

Obi-Wan shook his head. “I’ll catch up with you later.” 

Though it must have been killing him, Anakin refrained from commenting, likely out of gratitude for Satine managing to arrange a lunch date with Padme. He simply nodded, then shut the door quietly behind him.

“Masterfully done,” Obi-Wan murmured in appreciation, still looking in the direction his former padawan had gone. 

“Diplomacy solves many problems,” Satine said, smiling. 

She relaxed her shoulders, releasing a breath. 

He plucked one of her hands from her lap, kissed her knuckles.

“Anakin and I will meet with the Council this afternoon,” he told her. “Do you wish to be there?” 

“Not particularly,” she said, “but I suppose I should be.” 

He nodded thoughtfully, thumb slowly stroking across her fingers. Touching her was an addiction. “Where are we having lunch?”

“You and Anakin are going to make it then? How delightful.” She squeezed his hand, then named a small diner not far from the senate building. 

He nodded again. “I should get going,” he told her. “I do have a few things I’ve been neglecting, and I’m sure there are items that require your attention as well.” 

It was her turn to nod, but he fancied he could feel her unhappiness. Or maybe it was his own. 

He stood, pulling her up beside him. “I’ll see you in just a few hours,” he said quietly, leaning in to brush his lips over hers. “Then we’ll go to the Council. And I’ll be back here tonight.” 

“Ben,” she breathed, and he thrilled to the word. How many years had it been since she’d called him that? “What are we doing?” 

He heard hope and fear warring in her voice. He kissed her again. “Tonight,” he repeated. “We’ll talk about that tonight.” 

It was time to leave, but he still found it difficult. She saw him to the door, their hands twined. He bent slightly, touched his forehead to hers. “I love you,” he whispered. 

She looked up at him, eyes huge and luminous. “I love you,” she echoed. 

One more whisper-light kiss and he was gone. 

He was already counting the minutes until he would see her again. 

_This is why the code forbids attachment_ , his conscience helpfully reminded him. _Keep your mind on what you should be doing, not on her_. 

Very small chance of that happening, but he supposed he should try. 

He meditated. It was minimally helpful.

Making an effort, he dragged Anakin into the dojo. They could both use the practice, and sparring with Anakin required all of the concentration he could give, unless he planned on finding himself summarily skewered. 

Which did not sound pleasant at all. 

Anakin was, of course, predictably eager to swing a saber around. 

Their blades crossed and spun and parried, sparks flying around them. It was exhilarating and distracting and by the time they were finished, he needed another shower. 

Padme and Satine were waiting for them, and he divided a smile between the two as he slid into the small booth beside his duchess. 

He was struck once with the absurdity of it. Here they were, a group of quite intelligent adults, all pretending they were unaware of the romantic entanglements of the others. 

Truly, it was outrageous. 

But that was not a bridge to cross today. 

Instead, they had lunch, passing the time in casual conversation. Despite the seriousness of it all, they cracked jokes, bantered endlessly, and shared whatever amusing anecdotes came to mind. It was, he decided, the most gratifying meal he’d had in ages. 

“That was nice,” Anakin commented, an hour or so later, as they made their way back to the temple, Satine now with them.

“It was,” he agreed. “I…enjoyed the novelty of it.” 

Being in public with Satine and not having to pretend that he was just a bodyguard, among other things.

Beside him, Anakin nodded solemnly. “Yes.” 

Suddenly, Obi-Wan realized that this was what life must be like for Anakin every day. The small, quiet moments where he did not have to act, did not have to feign distance or disinterest, side by side with the vast stretched of time where he was not allowed to be with the woman he clearly loved.

Add one more to the list of conversations he very much needed to have. 

It was third - first was their plan to restore a planet to its rightful ruler, and second was a discussion sixteen years in the making. He glanced to his left, where Satine met his eyes with a small smile. 

That was probably enough to be getting along with, at least for one afternoon. 

By unspoken agreement, they paused at the door of the Council chamber. 

“Ready?” he asked. 

Satine nodded. “Lead the way.” 

As she walked forward with him, he deliberately brushed his fingers against hers. Anakin saw, but for once, reacted without humor, offering a brief smile that only meant support. 

The doors opened. 

Time to rescue a world. 


End file.
